


Route 1

by tanyart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Surfers, Established Relationship, M/M, Road Trips, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1567265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A road trip told in fives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Route 1

**Author's Note:**

> Same-ish verse my other surfing AU, [Lamba](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1003045), though this can stand alone. Inspired by California's coastal Route 1, hence the title as well. :Vc

**5 weeks** , and Eren thinks it’s enough time for everyone to get it together, to bring out the old birthday money or start saving a part of their paycheck from part time jobs.  If not, well—they’re all friends with enough spotting between them for it to not matter.  It’s just after the holidays, and school has long since kicked into full gear.  By now everyone is feeling the strain of working too hard for too long.

Maybe the idea has been with Eren ever since the start of the term, but it doesn’t have an actual form until the middle of midterm week when Jean pushes his textbooks away in a fit of cranky frustration.

It is four in the morning, and Eren watches as Jean lays his head on the library table.

“Get me out of here,” Jean groans in a way that sounds like he doesn’t really mean it. Like there’s no escape and he’s only saying it for the sake of complaining.  “Take me away.”

It’s not the most romantic plea, half muffled and more whine than actual words, but Eren is up to his shoulders enamored with Jean.  At this point he would promise everything from the moon to half his frozen dinner.  But, considering there are no available moons or frozen dinners left on hand (and Eren has already refused to write Jean’s paper for him—they aren’t that far into their relationship _,_ and  _never_  will be), Eren lays his head down next to Jean’s, plucking at the tufts of hair sticking out from the nest of Jean’s arms.

“Where to?” he asks, straight to the point.  Eren doesn’t humor Jean without a reason.

“Beach,” Jean mumbles into the table, not moving. 

The nearest beach is a ten minute drive, easy.  Eren thinks of their surfboards, stored away in the dusty garage of their rented house, and can’t pinpoint the last time they found the time to wrestle on their wetsuits for a swim.

 “This weekend,” Eren suggests.

“No,” Jean says, lifting his head.  He blearily looks at Eren, but even in his sleepiness he still has enough energy to be contrary—though that may be just the midterm grumpiness leaking through.  “Tired of that place.”

“So you’re saying you wanna go somewhere new?” Eren eases up with a sharp smile.  “ _You?_   Young and restless?”

“Weeks of school will make anyone antsy,” Jean retorts, trying to turn on his phone and failing.  His phone had died hours ago.  He hisses at the unfairness of the world, and bends down to his backpack for his charger. 

Eren glances at Jean, the top of his ruffled and wayward hair, and looks back up to the library window just as hazy dawn sunlight starts to peek through. 

“I just don’t want to be  _here_ ,” Jean continues, yanking his charger free from its confines and pokes around the floor for an outlet.,

He completely misses sunrise, but Eren knows Jean would only say it’s nothing new.  Same campus grounds, same annoying glare form the window.  They’ll have to turn the blinds close if they want to go on studying.

“Yeah?” Eren says, warming up to the challenge.   _Five weeks_ , he thinks, opening up his laptop.

Jean glances at him, frowning.  “And?”

Eren pulls Jean closer, bringing up google with one hand while the other cards roughly through Jean’s hair; “Fine, let’s go someplace new.”

 

* * *

 

 **5 days**  on the road to their destination.  Jean spends some time leaning against the station wagon and tracing the route on an actual map, because the novelty of it is hilarious to everyone in the group.   _A map_.  Made of paper and ink and everything.  The real deal.  It’s a huge crinkled mess that no one can figure out how to fold back the same way each time.  Everyone gets a shot at reading it—but in the end Armin has directions from the internet and everyone else resorts to using the GPS on their phones instead.

They make stops all along the coast when they need it, in tiny motels to sleep and scenic cliff sides for pictures.   They walk down to the shores too, revisiting old beaches and the same crashing waves.  Jean feels the itch to pull on his wetsuit and run into the cold water, but they’re on a timeline and he’s got Eren glancing at him every so often from the backseat with an excited look. Their surfboards remain tied to the top of the car and Jean can’t figure out how Eren can hold out, but each time they make a stop Eren corners him away from the car, behind rocky mounds or sand dunes, and sneaks in a few sloppy kisses before their phone buzzes with texts from Connie and Mikasa to hurry back. 

Eren’s got his forearms covered in sand, and Jean discovers later how most of it ends up inside his shirt, scratching down his sides during his entire turn to drive.  So the itch doesn’t go away, no thanks to Eren.

But eventually Jean finds a use for the huge map.  On the second day, Sasha leans over his shoulder to tape the fruit sticker from her apple on the paper, marking the spot on the highway where they had eaten lunch.

This also happens to be the same place Jean had gotten down on his knees and sucked Eren off behind the trees near the gas station.

“Hey,” Jean says, glowering sourly at the innocent apple sticker. 

Connie, notorious Sasha-enabler, slaps the sticky end of an old candy wrapper at their next rest stop.  Retaliation isn’t possible with him at the wheel, so Jean lets it go and resignedly buys a roll of clear tape the next day, if only to add in Mikasa’s most recent speeding ticket on the map as well.

Predictably the map becomes even more unwieldy.  If it had been difficult to fold down before it becomes impossible now.  The map accumulates smaller receipts from the little gift shops by the highway, a bloody thumbprint where Eren scraped his knee falling off slippery shore rocks, a multitude of gum wrappers from Armin, and Jean’s crowning moment of accidentally smacking the map right into Mikasa’s face while trying to hit Sasha.  A lipgloss stain marks the place where Jean gets the map taken away from him—until the moment he suddenly wakes up in the backseat with Sasha’s bright red lipstick all over his mouth.

“What?” he sputters, wiping his lips as he hears Eren laughing from shotgun seat.

 And Mikasa returns the map right back into his face in victorious silent revenge.

 

* * *

 

 **5 hours**  into the last stretch, and Eren begins to notice how often he stares at the rearview mirror when he drives.  It’s three in the morning so there’s not a whole lot to do anyway.  Next to him Armin is riding shotgun, humming softly along with the radio while the rest of the car is quiet and asleep. 

The GSP quietly beeps for him to keep on the highway, and Armin touches his arm to make sure he’s heard.

Every once in a while the rare oncoming traffic flashes lights inside the car and Eren catches little glimpses of what happens in the back. There’s Sasha sleeping on Mikasa’s shoulder, Connie passed out against the window, and Jean, sitting the crap middle seat with his head tilted to his chest.

The headlights pass by and the darkness settles again.  Eren looks away from the rearview mirror.

“Gas is almost out,” Armin reminds.  “Next stop we should fill.”

Eren checks the gauge, eyebrows rising as he sees the dial.  “Good call.”

The gas station they stop at is seedy as hell, but they pay with cash and Eren figures there’s nothing more menacing that a group of college kids anyway.  He takes care of the tank as everyone sleepily wakes up to use the restroom or, in Sasha’s case, buy more snacks.

When the pump finally clicks, Eren snaps the gas cover on and slides back into the driver’s seat.  He counts heads to make sure everyone is in the car but pauses when he sees Armin tucked away at the right side of the second row next to Mikasa, eyes closed and breathing even.  

The passenger side door opens and Jean steps in, gas station coffee in hand.  He holds it out for Eren, not looking very happy under the dim fluorescent lights, but Eren reaches for the plastic cup anyway, taking the extra second to warm his early morning-cold fingers over Jean’s hand.

“Wow. Some navigator, falling asleep already,” Eren says as Jean adjusts the seat down to a near forty-five degree angle without squishing Armin from behind. “Whatever happened to shotgun safety rules?”

“Fuck off,” Jean mumbles, curling into his seat.  He shuts his eyes, resolutely ignoring Eren’s quiet laugh.

Eren starts the car and heads back to the highway.

It doesn’t take him long to notice how he doesn’t need to look in the rearview mirror as much anymore.

 

* * *

 

 **5 minutes** for Jean to finally wake up from Eren slapping him on the back of his head.  He  _hears_  rather than sees their arrival at the beach—the crunch of pebbles as the car pulls to a stop, the distant excited murmuring behind him, and Eren, pulling the keys from the ignition and leaning in to press his face into the curve of Jean’s neck.

“We’re here.”

Jean opens his eyes, blinks to the sight of Eren yawning into his hand, and then to the view of sunrise over the ocean, hazy pink and orange over a shimmering blue landscape.  He sits up, letting Eren slide off him. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep.  You’re missing out,” Jean says, patting Eren’s cheeks.  “Look at that sunrise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eren says sleepily, turning into Jean’s palm. 

The curve of Eren’s mouth is unguarded and sweet with sunlight striking his green eyes. He smiles in a way Jean suspects might be from not sleeping enough. Jean makes a face.  He lets go and opens his side of the door, letting the cold morning air seep into the car. 

Eren yelps, reaching for the sweater that isn’t there—Jean tosses him a wetsuit instead.

 

* * *

 

**5 seconds.**

According to Jean, the beach is beautiful and perfect.  

Eren thinks they’re strange words coming from him.  Strange like ‘ _get me out of here_ ’ or ‘ _take me away_ ’—weird, offhanded stuff Jean says just to say them, but it’s been five weeks, five days, five hours, and five minutes since then, and Eren thinks Jean might be right. 

The beach has rolling swells, soft sand, and big cresting waves with watery tunnels like they were made for surfing under.  Eren’s feet are already covered with wet sand from walking down the shoreline with Mikasa and Armin, and Jean is off to the side with Sasha and Connie, teasing each other over the fit of their wetsuits.

Eren grips a surfboard under each arm, one for him and Jean, and he sways on the sand as the water rushes up to his knees.

It takes five seconds for Jean to turn around, grinning as he runs and crashes into Eren like a bigger, warmer wave of water.  For five seconds, Jean holds onto Eren tight, laughing breathlessly over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Jean says, looking out into the ocean with an excited look towards the new thundering waves ahead. “I’ve been waiting for this, all damn year.”

Eren pushes Jean away, shoving his board into Jean’s arms with a grin.

“Then why the fuck are you still waiting?”


End file.
